


Not Your Everyday Circumstance

by misaffection



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-12
Updated: 2010-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misaffection/pseuds/misaffection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 9 AU: the Replicators attack Earth, taking out the SGC and Area 51, where Sam is still working. Saved from the wreckage by Baal, the Goa'uld offers her a new life. But does her desire for revenge put that life at risk?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Your Everyday Circumstance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morgynleri](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=morgynleri).



> Written as part of LJ comm rounds_of_kink round 16 challenge  
> Prompt: She can't remember the last time she wanted to go home, even if they'd let her come back after this  
> Kink: changing sides, attraction of evil  
> Warnings: questionable consent, oral, manipulation, smut and fluffiness.

Blood is a copper tang in her mouth. She coughs and feels the rise of hot liquid. It burns the back of her throat and she gags, coughs again and spits it out. Footsteps sound and she lifts her P90. The barrel wavers as her hands shake: shock and pain and blood loss are taking their toil. She’s dying, but she will not go down without a fight.

Jaffa stride down the corridor. Sam blinks surprise and sweat from her eyes. Then she sees that they are not alone. Baal’s eyes met hers. The P90 tumbles from her boneless grasp.

He catches her fall. Shaking her head, she tries to pull away. She simply doesn’t have the strength.

“They have the facility,” he says then and she closes her eyes, moans sickly.

“No.”

“There’s nothing more you can do.”

Something tingles over her skin and she hears a distant metallic clatter, like hail on a tin roof. The lack of gunfire is a sudden, shocking emptiness that is immediately filled with other sounds: the crackle of flames and the moans of the dying. There were perhaps a dozen others that survived the initial assault, but she’s no idea how many still live.

She lifts her head. It’s a huge effort and the world seems to slide away from her, but she looks Baal in the eyes and whispers, “Why are you here?”

“On Earth?” His tone is oddly conversational given the situation they’re in, the level of destruction surrounding them. “Months. If you meant _here_ here, then I have my sources and they all indicated an attack. I’ve not spend weeks on weeks cultivating a profitable business just to have it ruined by a pile of hardware.”

Only Baal could belittle the threat in such a way. Samantha Carter manages a weak laugh.

“Heaven forbid,” she says.

She becomes aware that the only thing keeping her up is his hold. He supports one elbow, his other hand on her waist. Something like concern darkens his brown eyes.

“You’re dying,” he notes.

“There was an explosion.” There were, in fact, several explosions, but she only got caught in one. That is going to be enough. “The lab, I think. It… gets a little hazy.”

He loosens his grip on her elbow and brushes her temple. Pain flares, but the blow to her head isn’t the one killing her.

“Samantha.” He stops and looks over her head. She knows what he sees and shudders. “I… I’m sorry.”

Lethargy shatters at those unfamiliar words. She stares at him. His eyes seek out hers and she sees a deep regret. Her stomach twists.

“No.”

“Sam-”

“No!”

He sighs and looks away from her. “What do you wish me to do?”

Her mind scrambles for something. She will not – cannot – think about what she wouldn’t let him say. She knows, and her heart threatens to break, and there’s nothing… nothing…

“The Alpha Site,” she manages. “Please.”

Heavy footsteps sound behind her. She turns her head enough to see his First Prime halt and incline his head.

“Lord Baal, we found the laboratories. They took whatever they came for and destroyed the rest.”

“We were too late.”

“I’m afraid so, my Lord. What do you wish us to do now?”

“Search for other casualties,” Baal says. “There may be some back-up on the way that can take care of them.”

Sam quails at the inference that there might not be. Heaving a deep breath in, she pulls herself upright. She is still a soldier, no matter what.

“How bad is it?”

Dark eyes settle on her face. His expression is grim. “Bad enough.”

“Baal…”

“Later, Samantha. Right now, I must take steps to stop your injuries claiming your life.” He pauses and tilts his head. “If I may.”

So she’s bad enough that it’ll take a sarcophagus. She sort of knew that, but hearing it, even couched in vague terms, gives her an eerie sense of calm.

“Why?”

“I have… a proposal for you. I cannot make that to a dead woman.”

“Tell me now.” If she is going to deal with the devil, she might as well hear it sooner rather than later. Death might still be the better option.

“This attack was well planned and flawlessly executed,” he says and she flinches at ‘executed’. He continues, “Area 51 has been decimated. I cannot contact the SGC. Samantha.” It’s gentle enough that she closes her eyes and waits for the blow. “There was an explosion in the capitol. I don’t know the details as there’s no news and I came here when I realised… When I realised that you were in danger.”

Darkness spins around her, nausea rises. Everything is gone, she thinks. The hollow is too deep for her to begin to feel grief.

“Baal.”

She’s pleading with him to take it back, to say it’s a lie. She knows it’s the truth. Her hand tightens on his arm, clinging to the single piece of her past, the only thing left to her. The irony threatens to choke her.

“Come with me,” he says then. “I can restore you and together we can push them back. I can give you the world, Samantha. All I need is your agreement and your loyalty. Swear that you will be my queen and I will move the stars if I have to.”

“No.” She pulls her hand off him and turns, needing to flee. Her strength deserts her and she collapses against him. Weeping in frustration and more than a little fear, she gasps, “I won’t become Goa’uld.”

“You mistake me. I have no intention of over-riding your wonderful mind with a symbiote. But that lack does not mean that you cannot take your place at my side. Sam, there’s nothing here for you now, but if you come with me than you can continue the fight against the Replicators.”

With her back against his chest, Sam looks over what is left of Area 51. There’s not much to it. Her military training considers the likelihood that the SGC has survived… and discounts the possibility – this attack has been too well planned.

A hopeless anger surges, a powerful need to strike out at the beings responsible for so many deaths, and Baal has just offered her all that on a plate.

It’s possible that her anger clouds her judgement, or that the loss of blood and pain colours her decision, but she turns again and looks into his eyes and says, “Yes.”

His smile is victorious.

She’s lifted into his arms and lets her head loll against his shoulder. Exhaustion pulls at her and she closes her eyes, drifts in a grey no-man’s-land between wakefulness and eternal slumber. His voice reaches down, keeping her from sliding further, and her skin is warmed by his steady touch.

How long she remains like that, she’s not sure, but a sharp tap against her cheek bring s her fully and rudely awake. Looking round, she recognises the interior of a Goa’uld mothership. There is a sarcophagus in front of her, lid still closed. Baal is a few feet away, watching her. She manages to turn to him.

“Please.” She wasn’t going to beg, but this close to death – and the cure – makes the word spill out. She doesn’t want to die.

“Strip,” he orders. “Discard the trappings of your former life and come to me as a newborn.”

She hesitates and he frowns. Lifts his left hand. Her limbs shake at the gold glitter of the ribbon device. She nods, unable to vocalise her obedience, and pulls off the shredded remains of her flak jacket. It drops to the floor, followed by her shirt and vest, her boots, trousers, socks. Her hands shake as she takes off her underwear to stand there, utterly naked, in front of him.

His gaze takes her in slowly, his expression satisfied and yet still… hungry. She knows what comes next even before he moves. This is, she realises dimly, what she agreed to.

She is turned and pushed down against the sarcophagus, her breasts flattening on its lid. Her blood pools in the carvings and print them in reverse on her skin. A hand sweeps down her spine and a boot nudges her feet apart. A cry rises and lodges in her throat, choked by the horror that engulfs her – she has not the strength to fight him off.

“I have waited for this,” Baal tells her. “Waited for far too long and my patience is gone. I shall have you, Samantha, and make no apologies for the lack of comfort or care.”

Despite those words, she notes he is still caressing her. Her proximity to death makes her feverish, loosens her grip on self-control. He knows what he’s doing and at his talented touch, the lightest finger over her clit, her body betrays her. His chuckle is all she needs to know that he’s noticed.

Hot hardness presses against her. She gasps as he slides in, pain rippling through her at his intrusion. Her head is throbbing from the lack of blood and she’s woozy, disorientated. The hard edges of the sarcophagus bite into her stomach and thighs, the carvings grate at her breasts as her body is shifted by his first thrust.

“Hurts,” she groans.

“It is supposed to. Birth is not a painless process, rebirth even less so.”

He thrusts again and she whimpers, hands fumbling for some purchase to stop her body being grazed by the metal. His next thrust is harder and she cries out. Tears spill onto the sarcophagus, puddle in the pictograms, mingling with her blood.

“Blood and pain and tears,” Baal states and rams her over and over and over until she’s sobbing, aching, pain mounting on pain and yet… and yet she’s moistening, yielding as her strength and will evaporates. “Surrender to me.”

Sam stops fighting, too tired and sore to keep it up, and sprawls bonelessly. Instantly the violent, painful thrusts cease and she’s gathered, naked, bleeding, dripping, into his arms. His mouth closes on hers. Something dark inside her blossoms, a hungry, yearning need, and she kisses him back.

This time she’s not sure if the coppery taste is hers blood or his. Her teeth graze his lips and she wants to devour him, to be devoured, wants the pain to stop the deeper hurt that is starting to overtake her.

“Please,” she says and has no idea what she’s begging for. Her fingers knot the collar of his coat and she can’t breathe for crying. “Please.”

He cradles her almost gently, then lifts her up, placing her inside the sarcophagus. Panic overwhelms her and she grips him tighter.

“Easy, now.” His voice is soft, gentle. He strokes her hair back from her face and she leans into that touch. “Hush, Samantha. It’s alright.”

The last thing she hears is his voice, telling her that she’s safe, that she will be well, that he loves her. Then, there is nothing for a long, long time.

~ ~ ~

It’s not the inside of the sarcophagus that greets her opening eyes, but the generous expanse of a bedroom. She’s lying, still naked, amongst gold silk sheets and knows immediately this is his bed. She feels… well. Better than, actually, and realises that she’s no longer dying.

Sam sits up, expecting the room to spin, but it remains still. Her head is clear, her thoughts lucid.

Reality crashes in.

Area 51 is gone, lost to the Replicators. The SGC has most likely suffered a similar fate and, according to Baal, Washington is gone as well. She made a choice, to come here and be his queen or consort or whatever, in return for the ability to crush those that have destroyed everything she’s fought to keep safe for so long. She waits for the regret, the guilt, the shame. It doesn’t come.

She rises from the bed and goes to the door. It slides open: she is not a prisoner, then. Naked, she pads through the corridors and into the throne room. He sits, Jaffa in attendance, looking regal and darkly handsome. She wonders if the sarcophagus can have changed her already, or if that was sparked by seeing the Replicators level the military base she’d lived on for several months, seeing them kill people she’d worked with, people she considered friends.

Baal notices her arrival and smiles. His eyebrows arch, no doubt at the fact she’s naked, and then he rises from the throne and comes to her.

“You look much better,” he notes. “How do you feel?”

“Healthier. But not much better in other respects.”

His smile fades. “No. The sarcophagus cannot heal those wounds.”

“What have you found out?”

Baal removes his coat and drapes it around her shoulders. The courtesy surprises her a little and when he puts an arm around her waist, she leans into him.

“The SGC has been destroyed, I’m afraid. I have no idea if any managed to escape, though my Jaffa did record some strange readings at the time of the attack. I suspect that there was an Asgard ship in orbit.”

“The Daedalus,” Sam supplies, and smiles. “They’ll have beamed people out.”

“And then go to the Alpha Site?”

“Probably.”

He looks down at her. “Then that is where you wish to go?”

She thinks about it, but there is one fact she needs before she can really make that decision. “Do you have a Replicator weapon? I know you used something at Area 51.”

“Yes,” he says. “Plans… ah, fell into my hands a while ago. I recreated them and issued the weapons amongst my Jaffa, just in case.”

“How very forward-thinking of you.”

He smirks, but she’s too busy with plans of her own to respond.

“I know where they’re based, or at least one of their bases. If we modified your ship’s weapons using the plans you have, then we could attack and take that one out.”

He frowns. “To what purpose.”

Sam turns to him. “Revenge.”

“Spoken like a Goa’uld,” he says in an approving tone. “Suitable for my queen.”

She smiles. “Yes. Precisely.”

Baal waves a hand at the Jaffa. “Leave us.” They go and he brings her closer. “Ah, my love, what are you plotting? You cannot have been turned so quickly.”

She gazes up at him. “No? Are you so sure?”

“Samantha…”

“I want to destroy them, Baal. Every last stinking block.” Her eyes burn and she blinks the tears back. “Eight years of my life, dedicated to keeping Earth safe. You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed in terms of time and people and my own wants. If the others…” Grief chokes her. “If the others are dead, then I don’t have anything left. Nothing, except you.”

Doubt flickers in his eyes. His mistrust hurts, surprising her with its sharpness. He is close enough that she can rest her forehead on his chest. Her hands find his.

“If you betray me, I will kill you,” he says, and it sounds less of a threat and more a regretful fact.

There is nothing left to betray him for, but she does not say that. Instead she says, “I only ask that you don’t hurt me,” and shudders as she recalls his fucking her over the sarcophagus.

He reads that correctly, because he adds, “Again.”

She hitches her shoulders. She doesn’t want to talk about it, mainly because the shudder wasn’t entirely down to the pain. There is, she’s ashamed to admit even to herself, a part of her that enjoyed being ravished. And not simply because it stopped her from thinking about Jack and Daniel and Teal’c being dead.

“Yeah,” she sighs. His hands settle on the small of her back and she sinks into his embrace, looping her arms about his neck.

For a while, there is nothing but the sound of their breathing, her own heartbeat in her ears. She’s cold, not just because all she has on is his coat, but deeply chilled by the violent change her life has undergone. Baal is warm and she moves closer, seeking comfort and an ease to the ache inside.

He gives a small sigh that she feels more than she hears. Lifting her head, she meets his eyes. His gaze is steady and her lips twitch into a smile. He blinks slowly, tilts his head just so. Her gaze flicks down to his mouth, the crooked half smile revealing a row of white teeth, then jolts back to his eyes, dark and deep enough to lose herself in. She forgets how to breathe.

It’s a lighter touch than she expected; a teasing test of a kiss that’s almost tentative. His eyes remain open, holding a silent question echoed by the furrow of his brow. She nips at her bottom lip, nervous and uncertain, then tries kissing him again. This second is longer, though chaste. It’s not enough: she needs more.

“Baal,” she murmurs and his eyes darken, his grip tightening. Desire flares and… and he is kissing her deeply, tongue plunging into her mouth, hand at the back of her head. Her own hands fist his shirt and she pushes her mouth harder against his.

His growl rumbles across her tongue and she moans in response. She’s suddenly hot, moisture sliding down the inside of her thighs and she wants him. Wants him now. Wants him to tear into her and make her scream. Needs him to blind her to everything except him and here and now.

What he does is gently push her away. He’s panting and it’s evident that he wants her, but…

“Not like this,” he says. “Not when you’re like this.”

Confusion makes her blink, lost and empty. He’s a Goa’uld, he is supposed to be cruel and hard and exactly what she needs, not compassionate and understanding and deny her the pain she seeks.

“When did you grow a conscience?” she bites out. If it takes angering him, then she will.

He laughs at her.

“That won’t work, Samantha.” His voice ripples with humour, but there is a light in his eyes. She knows that he really understands what she’s trying to do… and why she’s doing it. “I will not harm you again.”

She sags, defeated.

As normality rearranges itself around her, she realises what almost happened, and feels a sudden wave of nausea.

“Oh, God!”

Ripping away from him, she bolts to the throne. There’s a bowl meant for water beside it, thankfully empty. She retches, but her stomach is empty and all she brings up is bile. It burns her throat and makes her gag again.

His hand rubs her back and then he sighs, pulls her into his arms. She’s shaking; sick and cold and horrified at her behaviour.

“Here,” he says and she finds a cup pressed into her hands.

Water washes down her throat, cooling the burn and soothing her stomach. She breathes heavily, limp in his embrace. She’s no idea what she’s doing – her emotions are shattered, her energy gone.

Baal sighs again. “The sarcophagus can only heal so much.”

She hears it, this time, and nods brokenly. “Yeah.”

“You ought to rest.”

Her eyes are already closed. “Yeah,” she says again, suddenly marrow-deep tired. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? You are only human.”

Her lips twitch, but she hasn’t the strength to laugh at his obvious teasing. She squeezes his hand.

“I didn’t…” She fingers his knuckles, listening to the beat of his heart. He sounds remarkably human himself. “It wasn’t… entirely anger,” she admits. “Especially not at the start.”

“I know.” His voice carries a certain note and she knows he’s smiling. “But still, as tempting as it was to take advantage of that… that is not what I wanted.”

This time she does smile. “What do you want?”

She knows – she just wants to hear him admit it.

“I want you to come to me of your own volition. I want you to… desire me. And I don’t want there to be an ulterior motive… on either side.”

“Maybe…” She shifts as much as she can manage and looks at him. “Maybe I could manage that.”

He smirks and then kisses her forehead. “Sleep, my love. We’ll… ah, discuss this further once you’re more rested.”

~ ~ ~

For the second time in one day, Sam awakens in Baal’s wide and very comfortable bed. She’s no idea what time has passed – in fact, she’s lost track altogether and isn’t sure how long it is since he carried her away from the remains of Area 51.

At that thought, she braces for a wave of crippling grief. It doesn’t come; instead there is a brief pang that settles to a distant ache. She takes a long breath in and then sighs, stretches, and realises that she is not alone in the bed. Rolling onto her stomach, Sam gazes down at the slumbering Baal.

Relaxed, his face looks younger than he does. Which is, she notes with a wry smile, far younger than his years anyway: his body is two thousand, while he doesn’t look a day over forty. She eases the silk blankets down and finds he’s naked. From the waist up, at least; she doesn’t quite dare to check further. And anyway, his torso is interesting enough.

He’s lean and muscular and she carefully runs a hand over the flat stomach, trailing up over the defined pectorals and the small nubs of his nipples. A low mutter makes her freeze, eyes on his face; she’s not ready for him to wake up just yet.

When he settles again, she edges closer and continues her investigation of his body. The broad shoulders are corded, silent testimony to his inhuman strength. His arms are as powerfully muscled, his skin smooth as silk under her palm.

Sliding her hands over him, she feels her earlier desire spark again. It’s not a sudden surge, just a flicker of heat between her legs. Breathing out, she accepts the sensation and explores the expanse of his stomach.

Her teeth dig into her bottom lip when she realises that he is aware of her caresses on some level – his physical reaction has tented the bedclothes. Curiosity gets the better of her. It would seem that Baal sleeps in the buff.

The burn between her legs heats as she stares at his well-proportion erection. She wets her lips as she imagines that inside her. A small groan escapes and she squeezes her eyes shut. Then she snaps them open again – well, why shouldn’t she? He wants her to approach him of her own free will and right now she’s more than willing.

She leans over him, aware that he’s only pretending sleep and has been for a while. “Don’t move,” she tells him and then lets her gaze roam downwards. His lips tempt her, but she doesn’t want to get emotional again, so her first kiss goes on his collarbone. She explores his chest with her lips, noting that his breathing quickens as she does so. He hisses as she nips at a nipple.

“Sam.”

“Shut up. We’re doing this my way, so just keep quiet and still. Or I’ll stop.”

She risks a glance up. He arches an eyebrow and smirks, then settles back on the pillow, hands folded behind his head. Taking that as his agreement to her demands, Sam takes a deep breath and then turns her attention back to his chest.

Not a millimetre of skin goes unexplored as she makes her way from collarbone to hip. His breathing is sharp by the time her fingers brush his thighs, his muscles tense under her hands. She smiles against his stomach, aware that the trembling that wracks him is the effort it takes to remain still.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs. When there’s no smug reply, she glances up and sees shock on his face. She smiles at him. “Well, you are. I thought that you knew that; you preen enough for it.”

He huffs, his expression morphing to an irritation that’s far more like him.

“Of course I know that,” he says in a maddeningly superior tone of voice. “I was just surprised that you’d noticed. It certainly took you long enough.”

“I noticed,” she says and throws him a coy glance. “I just didn’t let on that I had.”

His mouth works and she laughs at his wordless indignation. Then she strokes a hand across the lower part of his abdomen and his frown relaxes. She smiles again and edges her palm downwards.

“Sam,” he breathes.

“You’re supposed to be quiet, Baal,” she reminds him in a low voice, intent on her destination now. “Do as I’ve asked, please.”

He breathes out hard, but says nothing. She flashes him a quick smile and goes down.

He is sweet, rock-hard and hot. She swirls her tongue and he groans. The sound knifes down her spine and pools in her stomach: her touch is arousing him and that fact, in turn, arouses her. She takes him fully in, feeling the head of his cock at the back of her throat. Sucks and slides her tongue, grazes his skin with her teeth.

“Shit.”

The rare curse makes her grin and she pulls off, sitting back on her ankles to look at him. His usual poise of cool detachment is nowhere to be seen: instead he is right at the edge of his self-control, eyes squeezed tight and mouth open as he gasps for breath. Her instruction to remain still and silent has resulted in enough effort to bead sweat across his chest and forehead.

Knowing that she has inflicted this state on him gives Sam a feeling of power and pleasure spikes through her. She’s aware that the control is granted, that he could easily, should he wish, reclaim it whenever he wants, but the fact he is willing to allow her this… something bubbles inside her and she looks away from his face, not wanting to examine that too deeply right now.

To distract herself, she swings one leg over his, straddling his thighs. The muscles along his arms flex as he fights his need to touch her. She needs to see his eyes.

“Baal,” she murmurs, leaning over him, hands flat on his chest. The pounding of his heart reverberates through her palms.

His eyelids flutter and open. She sees strain and lust reflected in the brown depths of his eyes and feels a tug deep within her. There is no second thought, no hesitation; she kisses him hard, needing that connection. He responds to her by mouth alone, still keeping his hands off her. Part of her admires his control, another part wants him to lose it and yearns to feel his hands on her flesh.

Without breaking the kiss, she shifts her knees. His cock bumps the inside of her thigh and she uses that contact to guide herself down. She gasps into his mouth as heat pierces her. He fills her gloriously; thick and long and oh God but she needs this. It’s been far, far too long since she last had sex, last wanted someone as badly as she wants him.

“Okay,” she says breathlessly. “You can talk now. But your hands stay where they are.” He groans at that and she chuckles, low and throaty. “You have a problem with that?”

“I want to touch you.” His voice is uneven, ragged. She smiles against his lips and then slips her tongue just inside. He nips at her and she laughs. “Fuck, Sam.”

It’s the second curse to leave his mouth and she arches a curious eyebrow.

“Language,” she chides.

“I could ground you out in Goa’uld if you prefer,” he notes and she grins at him.

“I understand that, remember?”

“Well, there’s that plan shot down.” He sighs dramatically. “But seriously, you are… quite incredible.”

She smiles and rocks her hips, feeling a frisson at the way his jaw tightens.

“You want to control this, don’t you?” she teases, voice low. He doesn’t answer, but looks away, throat shifting as he swallows. “Or are you undecided? You want control but you like me on top? You like to watch me fuck you.”

He shudders and Sam bites her lip. Then she pushes up to sit upright, and stretches, grinding her crotch against his. His eyes follow her every move. She grins at him.

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

“Yes.”

She tilts her head. “To which part, Baal?”

“To all of it,” he admits carelessly. “I want to control you, but yes, I like you on top. And yes, I do have a rather unique view. I think you’ll find me being suitably appreciative.”

He eyes her breasts and gives a lecherous smirk, making her laugh. Then she leans down and kisses him. Again and again, desire building to a raging heat. She scrubs her fingers through his short hair, loving the feel of it, and rocks her hips with more intent.

The pressure builds.

She hovers on the edge and no amount of grinding is pushing her over. Pushing down, she breathes out hard, frustrated.

“This usually works,” she mutters.

“Are you saying there is something wrong?” Baal’s tone carries a hint of danger. “And if so, is it you… or me?”

“Neither.”

She frowns, trying to decipher what is missing. Staring into his brown eyes, she recalls the earlier kiss, the desperate, driving hunger… and his hands on her body and…

Sitting up, she grabs his wrist and repositions his arm so his hand is on her ass. She smirks at him. “That’s what was wrong.”

“Ah.”

His other hand joins the first as she props herself on her elbows and he squeezes her cheeks as she rocks. This is what she was missing: his touch, the feel of his hands against her skin.

“Hmm,” she moans. “That’s much better.”

“I… concur.”

“ _Oh_ …”

Her ability to speak is lost to the sudden wave of bliss, a breaking of tension that sends frisson after frisson of pleasure through her. She collapses against Baal’s chest, breathing hard, heart pounding. Her energy is gone, depleted in the most satisfactory way.

After a moment, she lifts her head and grins at him. “There’s a shock,” she chuckles and disengages to flop on the bed at his side.

“Excuse me?” Baal shifts onto his side and hooks a leg over hers. “Who said we were done?”

~ ~ ~

An interminable time and another two orgasms later, Sam lies in a tangle of silk sheets, incapable of doing anything other than breathe. She aches everywhere, in a few places she’d forgotten having, but is too sated to give a damn.

She’s woken to a bed devoid of Baal, a fact that both relieved and disappointed her: though unsure she could actually survive another session in his bed, she was more than willing to try. He has, however, deprived her of the opportunity.

The door slides open and she wonders if she’s somehow managed to summon him by thought alone. Then dismisses that as he’s dressed, in the same black top and trousers he wore… whenever it was. She really has to get a grip on how much time is passing.

“Here,” he says and tosses something at her. When she unfolds it, she finds it’s a dress of deep burgundy silk. “Get dressed.”

Disappointment knifes through her, but she does as he’s ordered and hauls herself out of bed and pulls the dress on. It is low at the front, revealing a generous amount of cleavage, and plunges to her ass at the back, the sleeves are long and flare at the cuffs, the skirt is long, but is split at both sides up to her thigh. In short, it leaves her with little doubt as to how Baal views her, which is why she doesn’t ask about why he’s not supplied her with any underwear.

“What’s going on?” she asks instead.

“Come with me – I have something for you.”

Sam puts her hand in his and lets him lead her out of the bedroom. He takes her to the bridge and motions at the viewscreen. She stares: beyond the protective glass there is a small Replicator ship, held in stasis by a beam that originates from Baal’s ship.

She turns with a frown. “What?”

“A gift for my Queen,” he says with a sweeping bow. “All you need is to say the word and your enemies will be destroyed.”

Eyes on the ship, Sam steps slowly towards the viewscreen. At the back of her mind she sees scuttling metallic spiders cutting a swathe through Area 51, careless as to whether they cut down military or civilian staff. She can see the bodies, the blood, feel the burn of the explosion against her skin. Anger surges, hot and demanding her do something. Turning back to Baal, she says, “A word?”

“My Jaffa are at your disposal; they will carry out your orders as readily as they would mine.” He smiles at her. “You are my chosen consort, my Queen, and the power I wield is yours to do so as well.”

Sam looks at the ship. Her hands clench. She will do this; for those that were lost at Area 51, for the possible loss of the SGC, for Jack and for Daniel and Teal’c.

“Fire,” she says and watches a second beam shoot out. It knifes into the Replicator ship and the hull glows. Then it erupts into a hundred thousand blocks, shattering like glass. She finds a victorious, vicious grin on her face.

“There, my love, the first blow of many.” Baal’s arm slides around her waist. She leans against him, eyes burning from the flare of light. He kisses her temple. “Soon they will be eliminated and you shall be avenged. How does it feel?”

Her heart is beating faster, but it’s not terror that bubbles through her veins. She feels… elated.

“Incredible,” she murmurs, then turns in the half-circle of his embrace to look at him. “What you said, about… power, did you mean that?”

“Of course, Samantha.” He smiles at her warmly and brushes her cheek with his fingertips. “As I told you on Earth – there is nothing that I will not do, will not give you, if it is in my ability to do so.”

She stares at him, dumbfounded. Her fingers pluck numbly at the collar of his coat. She can’t think, can’t move, can’t get beyond the hugeness of his simply put statement. The only thing she can do is rest her forehead against his chest and wait for her brain to engage.

This is not helped by the way he runs a hand up and down her back, in fact that is extremely distracting. The odd chill burns away as her body reacts to his touch. She sighs at herself, irritated that he can stir her so easily.

Then he moves away from her. As she blinks at the loss of contact, she realises that they are alone: at some point the Jaffa have left and it’s just her and Baal. Her gaze settles on the remains of the Replicator ship, floating in space as a cloud of metallic dust. Her lips twitch into a smile: as long as she can do this, as long as she’s taking out the threats to her world, then she’s still doing something worthwhile, still defending the things she holds dear. Just not in a way that they would immediately recognise. But she’s worked with Baal before, this is no different.

He turns and she recognises the light in his eyes. Okay, maybe a little different, she thinks as her skin tingles in anticipation. His gaze shifts to the throne on its dais. She moves towards it, aware of him closing in behind her, and then sits on the edge of the seat. Tilts her head at him.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says in a low, husky tone that makes her stomach flip. “You’ll be here for some time.”

She hitches so her back is pressed against the hard upright of the throne. She’s surprised at the lack of comfort, the stark solidity of the seat. Further surprised as he kneels before her, yet there is nothing submissive about the expression on his face. He takes her left leg and hooks it over the armrest of the throne, repeats the process with her right so she is wide open.

“Baal,” she stutters, cheeks flaming - she cannot do this here.

“Hush, my love. No one will disturb us.” He smirks. “Though I cannot guarantee that they will not hear you scream.”

She doesn’t get a chance to inhale, never mind voice a dissent – he has pushed what passes for her dress out of his way and his hands slide up the inside of her thighs and–

“Ohh.”

She manages not to scream, but his tongue works against her clit, as talented there as it is at delivering stinging denunciations against her species, and if he keeps this up then she most likely will. Already the pressure is building and a part of her is amazed he can wring another climax from her exhausted body.

“You’re going… to kill me,” she gasps, voice hitching as he slips a finger inside her. “Oh, God, don’t. I can’t… Baal, please.” She is truly afraid that he’s going to push her too far.

“You say that,” he comments, sounding amused. “Your body seems to have a different opinion.”

Sam isn’t sure her body is still attached to her head. It can’t be, because she knows this is insane and that he really needs to stop, but that knowledge isn’t stopping her from being wet and aching for more. The pleasure is so intense that it hurts.

“S-stop. Please.”

Her words fall on deaf ears. A second finger joins the first, opening her wider. His tongue is hot and he makes long, slow passes over, in, and then suckles on her clit. She whimpers and drops her head back. Stars float across her vision as she cracks her skull on the unforgiving frame of the throne. And all the time he fingers her deeply, sucks her hard, and she’s gasping for oxygen, for sanity, for the strength to pull away.

Through her blurring vision, she sees what is left of the ship, realises why he’s doing this here. The ship was for her, destruction to give her as much pleasure as his mouth does.

It’s too late. The spark of dark joy she felt at the Replicators’ demise ignites the fuel of her desire and she’s shuddering against him, wave after wave washing through her until she can feel the moisture oozing out. Her scream echoes in her ears.

Then a blinding, sharp pain spikes in her thigh and something cold and insidious creeps upwards, stealing thought and consciousness.

Sam tumbles into blackness.

~ ~ ~

When she comes to, she’s in a different room. The bed is marginally smaller than Baal’s, the décor a little less grand. The Queen’s quarters, she thinks, not sure about that but unable to imagine another possibility.

She sits slowly, but finds there is no need for her care: her body feels more than rested, it feels whole in a way that makes her want to vomit: he put her in the sarcophagus again.

Clutching the sheet to her chest – and she’s naked again – Sam rises from the bed. There’s a table against the far wall, laden with trays of food and a gold pitcher. She walks over and examines what’s been left for her. It looks edible, though she’s no idea if it is or not. Or if it’s been tampered with.

Still, the sarcophagus can only restore so much and she can’t remember the last time she ate. Hunger is a gnawing ache in her stomach. She picks up a thick slice of bread and nibbles at the crust. It’s not long before she’s trying the meat, which tastes like ham and could be, for all she knows, and what is definitely cheese. The pitcher holds a deep red wine that smells rich and fruity. Sam ignores it and goes for the small glass jug holding water.

Once she’s eaten her fill, she takes her cup to the window and looks out. The stars are the blue blur of hyperspace speed. She wonders where they are headed and snorts – for all his claims about her sharing power, Baal has not seen fit to even keep her abreast of his plans, never mind ask for her input.

Sam, you are an idiot, she thinks. You’ve fallen for his lies and half-truths, let him wheedle his way under your skin and you really should have known better than that. He’s too tempting. Too handsome, too clever by half, and he’s played her so well. That he’s so damned good in bed has just added to her ability to fall for completely the wrong guy.

No. She shakes her head, pushing that thought away. It’s not like that.

No, not much.

“Shit,” she says aloud. Has she? In the midst of everything that happened, in the midst of him fucking her six ways from Sunday and actually what day is it, has she done something even more stupid than abandon Earth on her bent for revenge?

The door opens and she turns. And despite knowing that he drugged her and put her in the damn machine, her heart misses a beat at the sight of him. Even though she’s angry, she wants nothing more than to feel his hands on her, feel his mouth against hers.

She pulls on the anger, drawing herself up, spine ramrod straight, and she glares at him.

“You put me in the sarcophagus.” It’s easier to start with simple statements of fact. “You drugged me and put me in, without any agreement from me. So much for your respect.” She gives a flat laugh. “In fact, so much for wanting me as I am, since that damn machine alters me. Is that what you’re doing, Baal? Changing me by increments until I ask for a fucking symbiote?”

Her tirade has little effect – he just stands there, arms folded, and waits for her to finish.

“Are you quite done?” he asks after a moment.

She breathes out hard. “For now. I want to hear what amazing excuses you come up with this time.”

“I need no excuses.” He drops his arms to his side and walk forward. She forces herself to hold her ground, not willing to let him know how much he really intimidates her when he’s in this mood. “Nor do I need to give you any reason for what I do.”

The truth hurts more than it should.

“So you don’t really care. This is just some game for you, isn’t it?”

“Well you seem to know me better than I know myself. Maybe you should answer those questions, since you’re clearly more qualified.”

“You lied to me.” That’s what really gets her – she trusted him, and he’s betrayed her. It shouldn’t matter. It does. “Why, other than to hurt me more? Haven’t I suffered enough for you?”

His eyes flash and his jaw tightens. She waits for it, but when he does speak, his voice is still human.

“I have not lied, Samantha. Everything I have told you is the truth, more than you realise and certainly more than I should have said. This no game and I have no wish to injure your feelings. The reason I put you in the sarcophagus was to ease your suffering. I… went too far, for which I apologise by the way, and I wished to correct that mistake.”

She frowns, thinking over what happened on the bridge. “What did you do then that was so wrong?”

“I should have stopped. You begged me to, but… well, I am what I am. It was a slip that I do not intend to repeat.”

He is what he is. Sam blinks as that registers. Somehow, she’s forgotten. Or maybe it’s just ceased to matter. She’s not sure which is more nerve-wracking, yet she’s not as horrified as she ought to be. She closes her eyes, wondering what the hell has become of her. What the hell she is doing.

There are a hundred things she should say, but what comes out is, “You didn’t hurt me” and she opens her eyes again, looks at him directly. “But… but I frightened myself.”

A dark eyebrow arches, a silent demand that she explains herself and quickly, if the expression on his face is anything to go by.

She looks away. “W-when I… climaxed I-I…” Her tongue fumbles the words and her cheeks flame. It’s odd that she can give oral to a System Lord and yet not tell him what actually happened when he went down on her. She scrubs a hand through her hair. “No offense, but it wasn’t entirely down to you. I… I was on a high, and you damn well know that I was. That’s why it was there, so I could see what I’d done. I got off on blowing that ship up and I don’t care!”

The last is more to herself because she does, a little, and she’s sick of being good and doing things the right way. All that’s gotten her so far is a myriad of dead friends, more close calls with death than she can recollect and a failure of a love life.

It occurs to her that it’s not really him that she’s angry with, even though he did drug her. In a typical paradoxically Baal fashion, he’s done the wrong thing for the right reason. She wonders how a being so intelligent can constantly be so dumb.

After a moment, she speaks. “I’m not playing a game, either. I have more… invested in this than you realise.”

His lips twist and he huffs. “Invested? You have given me nothing. The only reason you’re here is because there was no other option available to you.”

She cannot deny that, as it’s the truth – he offered her a chance to defeat the Replicators and she took it, regardless of the consequences. She just hadn’t imagined that one such consequence would be his becoming important to her.

Moving to his side, she puts a tentative hand on his arm. “Baal,” she says softly. He glares at her and she smiles slightly, sadly. “You’re right. At least about why I came, but… but you’re wrong if you think that’s why I stayed.”

Some of the anger leaves his face. “You stayed because you want revenge, a desire I understand and if that is what you need then… then my offer still stands. I have not lied. I truly did not intend to hurt you. Maybe I fool myself, but-”

He sighs and moves his arm. Her hand drops to her side and she watches, cold and numb as he folds his arms and walks away. Loss wells up and spills down her cheeks.

“Please don’t go.”

It’s out before she can censor herself, before she can debate the wisdom of laying her heart on the line. He is all she has and, though not sure that’s entirely fair on him, she cannot let him go. What she feels terrifies her and it only makes sense when she’s in his arms, when he stops her from thinking, from analysing.

His eyes rake her, his expression full of distain. “Why should I stay?” he asks, voice bitter. “Just because the sex is good? It is, but you cannot believe I will settle for that. No, Samantha. I will not be your distraction, as… entertaining though that is.”

With that he leaves, and her heart is torn from her. Sobbing, she sinks to the floor, utterly broken and realising a hard and painful truth.

She is in love with him.

~ ~ ~

Hours pass.

From somewhere she finds the strength to rise and use the bathroom, then gets dressed. Every motion is automatic, dull. She has no hope, because there is none left to her – she is in an impossible situation from which she cannot escape. In the large mirror, her reflection stares back, pale-skinned and dead-eyed. The burgundy dress makes her look paler, enhances the shadows of her face. She gazes at what she has become and does not recognise herself. She leaves her room – she is still no prisoner – and heads to the bridge.

Baal’s throne is painfully empty. She looks away and a Jaffa snaps to attention.

“Can I assist you, my Queen?” he asks, hers to command as promised.

She swallows.

“Where is Lord Baal?”

The Jaffa frowns. “I am uncertain, my Lady. He ordered that he is not to be disturbed.”

“Please, I need to speak to him and it’s… urgent.” She has to tell him while she has the nerve. “Very urgent.”

“My Lady, I cannot disobey him. He said that no one was to approach him, which I have to assume includes you.”

It means especially her. He must be furious with her. Her heart quails.

“Alright, I won’t ask you to betray him.” She smiles slightly. “Your loyalty is noted.”

“My Queen is very generous.”

She almost laughs. If she was generous, she would not be looking for him. She nods and hurries out.

Wandering the corridors, Sam soon becomes lost. She carries on walking, because there is nothing else for her to do. Her feet ache. Her heart is close to breaking. She’s utterly alone and, with only time and space to think, her mind goes back to what she has left behind.

Jack. He’d never forgive her for the decision she’s made, even if it means destroying the Replicators. He and Baal have way too much history for him to realise that there was no choice as far as she was concerned.

Her father wouldn’t get it either: never mind the human aspect, Selmak hates all Goa’uld. But where were the Tok’ra when the Replicators attacked?

Daniel will probably understand, but he’s not military and doesn’t always consider that side of things. It makes him emotional and more capable of accepting the wrong thing done for the right reason.

She has no idea what Teal’c would think.

In the very bowels of the mothership she finds the engines. Technology is an obvious distraction and she lets her mind loose, picking apart how it works rather than dwelling on things she cannot change. And the engine is fascinating – she can see the Ancient influences and a myriad of others: the Goa’uld are a scavenger race with little technology of their own, though certainly intelligent enough to bodge others’ together into a working system.

She could do with trousers, she thinks as she climbs a ladder to the next level. At least there is no one below copping an eyeful of her ass.

A metal grate bridges across the room. She crosses and taps at the glass-fronted read-outs, no real idea what she’s doing but happy enough to pretend. Below her, the energy spins a bright blue ball lit by shards of white lightning. It’s like looking into the heart of a storm and she leans on the rail to watch it, entranced.

A sharp report like a gun going off makes her jump and the support is just gone. Her weight carries her forward. Down. There will be nothing left of her.

Something snags the back of her dress, pulls her back. She finds herself in Baal’s arms, his expression somewhere between frightened and annoyed.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” he shouts and shakes her, hard. “Of all the stupid, brainless things to do. Seriously, is there not an ounce of sense in that head of yours?”

She stares at him, mouth dry from the close call, unable to say a word in her defence.

He tempers his fury. “Are you alright?”

She isn’t and hasn’t been for a while.

“No.”

A hysterical laugh escapes her. She clamps a shaking hand over her mouth. Her eyes go back to the energy ball beneath. A part of her wishes that he let her fall, then at least this would be over.

His hand is painfully tight on her arm. She blinks and realises that she actually took a step towards oblivion. She looks at him.

“I’m really not,” she says and lets it go.

He pulls her to him as she begins to sob in earnest. She can’t contain the grief and pain, the loss and the hopeless that she feels, and it spills out until she can barely breathe.

“They’re dead,” she moans. “They’re all dead and there was nothing I could do. And I loved him, and Daniel and I can’t believe it. I just can’t.” There’s more to it, but she doesn’t understand it herself, so doubts that Baal can, but he holds her tightly, rocks her in his arms and just lets her jabber and weep it all out.

“Oh, Sam,” he says and his voice is so gentle, so sympathetic that it causes another wave to hit and she clings to him: her rock in the maelstrom of agony.

Eventually, she drains herself and cannot cry any more. He’s knelt on the grating and she’s more or less on his knee and she doesn’t remember being moved. His arms circle her, his head low as if he’s protecting her, sheltering her from her own storm.

“Baal,” she whispers, voice rough from crying so hard. All she wants now is to let him know this is not just about revenge and red hot sex. “You’re wrong.”

“About what?”

It’s so quiet she almost doesn’t hear it, but she does, as she hears the pain underlying his tired tone. The realisation that she’s hurting him is a knife to her heart.

“About why I’m staying. Yes, I want revenge, but I could have that without… without the rest, because you promised me that. I-I don’t come to your bed because I owe you anything.” She shifts so that she can look at him. “I come because I want to. I want you.”

His jaw tightens. “The sex is good.”

“Yes.” She says it slowly, working up courage. “But it’s more than that.”

“Really?” He says it dismissively and he’s avoiding her eyes.

Smiling, she puts a hand to his cheek. “Yes, really. I… care about you, Baal. I do,” she states at his snort of disbelief. “I know that I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” he says wryly.

“You know what I mean.” She lays her head on his chest, perfectly content to stay here like this forever. “Don’t deny that there’s always been… something between us.”

“How can I? It is, after all, what I was counting on. That and the fact you respond in a very particular way when you’re pissed off. I assumed that the Replicators taking out Area 51 would be suitably… annoying and-”

“Make me ripe for the picking?” she finishes, though she’s not really irritated at him. “Most guys just get a girl flowers.”

“Is that what you desire?”

She laughs. “No, not really. It’s a little too conventional, isn’t it? Considering…” She pauses and sighs. “You do realise this is all kinds of wrong. You lowering yourself like this, me fraternising with the enemy.”

“I am not your enemy, Samantha. I’m not even Earth’s any more, though I doubt anyone would actually believe that.”

“Bigger fish to fry?”

“Indeed.” He looks down at her. “I do like ‘fraternising’ though. It sounds… dirty.”

Sam chuckles. “Why am I not surprised?”

His grin fades. “I’m aware of what I’m asking of you, Sam. That’s why…” He heaves a sigh. “I suppose it might seem like manipulation, but once I knew that they’d attacked, my course of action seemed obvious. It is not something I would have offered under normal circumstances.”

“Because it would have divided my loyalties,” she guesses and feels a warm flood of affection.

He meets her gaze. “Exactly.”

She smiles, then pushes up and kisses him soundly. A hand cups the back of her head and he deepens the kiss with a passion that leaves her breathless.

Breaking away, she gasps, “You saved my life. Before. I thought I was dead, wanted to be.”

His eyes widen. “Why?”

“Because you are all I have and that scares me. Because I thought I’d pushed you away and that scared me even more.” She chews at her bottom lip, cheeks hot. “What-whatever this is, I’m not ready to give up on it, Baal.”

It’s a close a confession as she can manage and hopes he will be satisfied with that. When she dares to look at him, she sees a grin on his face. Apparently he is.

“Good,” he says and pulls her in for another devastating kiss. When he releases her, he adds, “As I am not prepared to, either. I also think that we should move this reunion to… ah, more salubrious surroundings since I doubt that grating will be terribly comfortable for you.”

She grins, arousal tingling through her.

“You’re all heart,” she chuckles and kisses him again.

~ ~ ~

Baal lays her on the bed with considerable care. Once she’d be surprised by his gentleness, but she knows him better, knows there is far more to him than the veneer he presents. She closes her eyes and gives a muted moan as his hands travel over her skin. He brushes her breasts and she arches into his touch.

“Oh, yes,” she sighs and hums in satisfaction.

“You are very beautiful,” he says and she flushes at the reverence in his voice.

An arm across her face hides her from his intense scrutiny, and she mutters, “Oh shut up.”

He laughs and manages to insert his face under her arm and find her lips. The kiss is light, teasing and makes her groan. She moves her arm down, trapping him, and retaliates for all she’s worth. He pushes her arm down and pins her wrists to the bed, then trails kisses along her jaw, down her throat, traces her collar bone and then moves onto her breasts.

She squirms in sudden, frantic need as he suckles one nipple then the other. His teeth graze her, just hard enough to cause a spike of pleasure-pain that stabs downwards. She feels moisture gather, watering for him and what delights he can inflict on her all-too-willing body.

“Baal,” she gasps. “Please.”

“Please what, my love?”

She groans. Doesn’t he know that she’s too frustrated for playing dumb? That she needs him, inside her, now? She shifts her legs further apart and attempts to guide him to where she needs him most.

“Ah, ah, no.” His voice is amused. She opens her eyes and glares at him. “You have to say it, Sam.”

Her cheeks burn, but there is no escaping that steady brown-eyed gaze.

“I need you,” she whispers. “In-inside me.” He shifts and the tip of his cock touches against the ache. She moans, but he holds himself just out of reach and suddenly she no longer cares. “Fuck me!”

“There you go,” he murmurs and she warms at the appreciation in his tone. “All you had to do was ask.” And he pushes in.

She’s lost count of the number of times they’ve had sex, but this is still what she enjoys most – the feel of him sliding in, the way her body adjusts to his girth. It’s when she gets beyond the point of being able to stop him, when he could, should he wish, take her forcefully. When he is this careful, she sees into his soul and there is nothing to compare.

After two thousand years, it’s a surprise that so much of the host survives. Or perhaps she is seeing something else entirely, something that sits at odds with everything she knows about the Goa’uld. She wants to ask, but is afraid of his answer. Either way it presents something she’s not ready to face: it’s bad enough that she’s falling for him, without the knowledge that one part of him or the other feels something similar.

He calls her his love.

She gasps, fortunately timed with an inwards thrust. He continues, unaware that she lies beneath him, utterly stunned. He can’t, she thinks. It’s not possible. But the Tok’ra are a passionate race, and there’s not actually that much difference in terms of genes. Sam wonders if her prejudices have made the gulf wider than it truly is.

The pleasure has stopped. She blinks, coming to the realisation that he’s still, propped on one elbow as he gazes down at her. When he notices her look, he raises an eyebrow.

“Am I not being attentive enough?” he asks, tone arched. “You were miles away.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologises automatically. “It’s just… I was thinking. About something you’d said.”

“What was that?”

“Something… you called me.”

“I’d have thought you’ve heard ‘Samantha’ before,” he says and she laughs softly.

“Not that. You… You called me… you said…” Her tongue tangles and she bites her lip.

He frowns, still smiling. “What did I say?”

“’My… love’.” It’s a mere whisper and she can’t look at him. “I just wondered…. why.”

“Do you not believe that I could love you?” Baal asks, voice gentle.

“Isn’t it a pathetic human emotion? Aren’t you… beyond that sort of thing?”

“Maybe I am less above it than I imagined.” His fingers follow the curve of her breast. “Maybe you bring me down.”

“Aren’t you a God?”

“That is… an affection that I use little. I have no time to puffed up pretence and scrabbling for every scrap of power.”

Sam snorts. “Says the being that wiped out two star systems just to stay ahead of the game.”

He looks away. She feels something of his passion die and startles: this is not the reaction she expected. “Baal?”

“Men make mistakes. Gods… make larger ones. Does it surprise you so much to know that I have… regrets?”

She stares at him. Yes, it does, but on the other hand…

“No. actually, it doesn’t, though I think maybe it should do.” She offers him a wan smile. “I guess I bought into your propaganda a little.”

Baal gives a harsh laugh. “Yes, well, if I will go around overstating things then I suppose I can only blame myself when it back fires me on.”

She strokes his hair, rests her palm against his cheek. “It doesn’t matter to me what you are,” she says, feeling the truth of her words as she speaks them. She grins at him. “Nothing matters except that you finish off what you started – some of us are desperate to come here, Baal.”

“Well, my love, in that case…”

He does, then, whether it’s the host or the symbiote or a combination of the two. She actually suspects the latter, because he is seamlessly joined and she can’t tell where the human part of him ends and the other starts, and it really doesn’t matter.

Especially not when he’s driving into her so hard, so fast, so relentless that she cannot draw breath for moaning at the sheer pleasure that threatens to drown her. Her fingernails dig into his shoulders and he hisses, groans her name and grinds down. White light explodes behind her eyelids.

“Oh, God!”

Her body jerks against his, the aftershocks almost as powerful as the original orgasm. It takes her an age to come down on the high and when she does, finds that her eyes are watering. She blinks them clear and catches her breath.

“Whoa,” she murmurs.

“See?” Baal says and drops a kiss on her lips. “I told you that I’m incredible.”

She dissolves into helpless laughter.

~ ~ ~

Later, she lies on her side with him tucked up against her back. She trails her fingers over his muscular arm, enjoying the afterglow of very good sex. Her earlier thoughts resurface and she decides that now is safe enough to air them.

“What was the name of your host?”

He jolts, startled. “I… I don’t remember. It’s a very long time ago, Sam.”

She shifts onto her back and looks at him. “I never know which of you I’m really talking to. You… he’s not in control that much. I don’t feel him like I’ve done with others. Why are you different?”

“Because I’m just that brilliant,” he says. She elbows him in the ribs and he gives a soft grunt. Then his eyes darken and vulnerability flickers in their depths. “What if I told you that the choice was mine, I mean the host’s?”

“I don’t know – is that something you’re likely to tell me?”

“Sam…”

He sighs and then moves away. She watches him in surprise as he sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

“So you chose this? What difference does that make?”

“All the difference, as you well know. Tell me how the Tok’ra hold themselves apart from the Goa’uld?”

She knows that, of course. “The blending is always chosen, by both sides.”

“Exactly.”

“W-what are you saying, Baal?” She’s trembling. “Are you saying that you are – were – Tok’ra?”

“There are a few that, once blended, found the lure of power to be more than they could stand.” His voice is low and very quiet. She just stares at his back, unable to speak. “Perhaps it was not such a good idea for the Council to agree to blend one of their own to a man who, like you, had just lost his entire world.”

“Oh.” She sits up and puts a hand on his back. “C-can you tell me? You don’t have to but… you’ve never told anyone, have you?”

“No.”

Sam moves so she’s sat beside him. She takes his hand. “If you want… it won’t go beyond this room, I promise you that.”

He gives her a ghost of a smile. “I am aware of that.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I do, though I’m not sure you really want to hear it.”

“It must have been something terrible.” She’s lost everything but still isn’t prepared to take a symbiote. He is much stronger than she is and yet found it necessary. She can’t imagine what would drive him to that.

“It’s not…” He sighs. “I was married, Sam.” He looks at her and there is an ancient pain in his eyes. “I had a wife and children. We were not rich, but we were happy.”

She swallows the lump in her throat. “But?”

“There was a plague.”

Four simple words, but they paint a terrible, horrifying picture. She squeezes his hand.

“I’m so sorry.”

“My wife managed to pull through but the children…” He trails off and her heart bleeds for him. “She didn’t recover from their loss, took her own life. And I had nothing left.”

There’s nothing she can say, so she just grips his hand.

“The Tok’ra arrived too late to stop most of the deaths, but they offered symbiotes to those that were left. You know that the shared knowledge goes all the way back to before the divide. Perhaps it was that, perhaps it wanted a taste of the power, but in the end blending a twisted symbiote with a bitter man did not yield the best result, really.”

Baal sighs and then continues, “So I could live forever, or at least a very long time. I had nothing but time, and the desire to so control things that I would never lose what was important to me. It was far too easy to step away from what they represented and begin to gather my own forces, to become a System Lord. It was too easy to forego my humanity.”

Sam bites her lip and stares at their joined hands. His tanned skin shows white at the knuckles and she wonders when he last remembered his beginning. Looking at him now, his face is shadowed, lined, and he suddenly appears so much older.

“I… lied,” he says without meeting her gaze.

“About what?” she prompts gently.

“I do remember the name, I just prefer not to. The day I took the symbiote was the day I left everything I was behind me.” He turns his head and looks at her. His eyes flash gold. “I am Baal.”

It’s the first time since she joined him that she’s really heard that symbiotic grate. She holds the alien gaze steadily – having heard his story, she knows him fully and she’s not afraid of his darker side.

“Yeah, I get that,” she says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to drag up old ghosts.”

“It does not matter.” The symbiote remains in control and he sits straighter, the lost look hardening to determination. “If I had not intended you to know, then you’d still be ignorant.”

Sam nods. “Is… is he okay?”

“He will be. We will both be.”

“Good.”

Glancing down, she realises he is still holding her hand. She wonders if she should pull away, but doesn’t dare to bring his attention to it, unsure as to how the Goa’uld part of him really feels.

“Did you wish to know anything else?” he asks.

She snorts softly. “Several things, but I’m not sure how much you’re willing to share.”

“You do realise that I have been aware of everything so far, yes?” His voice carries a note of curiosity. She bites her lip. His free hand touches her chin. “And you should not do that.”

She releases her lip, abashed. “Hm, I knew but… I don’t know, hearing it is something else. I’m not used to hearing this voice.”

“No, we’re aware that it would make you uncomfortable, be too much of a reminder. But he says nothing that I would prefer him not to. We are… blended, Samantha, two parts that create the whole. This you must understand, and come to terms with. You cannot have one without the other.”

Nodding, she squeezes his hand. “Yeah, I’m beginning to realise that.”

“It bothers you?”

“I can’t lie, Baal, you know that it does.” She meets his gaze, holds it. “But that doesn’t mean that I can’t adjust.”

He smiles slowly and inclines his head slightly. The gold light dies and he gives a small gasp. Looks at her, stunned.

“He wasn’t supposed to do that,” he complains. “I was afraid of what you’d do.”

Sam takes a deep breath and releases his hand. Cupping his cheeks, she leans forward.

“Let him back and I’ll show you,” she murmurs. His eyes shine and she smiles, shakes her head slightly. “For a being who claims so much intelligence, you can be really dumb at times,” she says and then kisses him on the mouth.

He tastes no different, feels no different – if she ignores the buzz of naquadah in her veins – and his lips are as soft. She does not close her eyes, but keeps the evidence of exactly what he is front and centre. He puts a hand on her hip and she smiles, slides the fingers of one hand into the short locks of his hair. A soft groan escapes him, carrying the odd dual tone, and she shivers.

Breaks away, a little breathless. He arches an eyebrow.

“Dumb?” he echoes belatedly.

She ducks her head to hide the smile. “I’m adjusting. Are you?”

There’s a brief pause, then he chuckles and hitches a shoulder.

“I have no idea what I’m doing any more,” he says.

She grins wider at this admission and puts her head on his shoulder. “Well, that makes two of us.”

“Three,” he corrects with a throaty laugh. She giggles and swats his other shoulder lightly.

“That doesn’t help,” she says, but she’s still chuckling so it probably doesn’t sound like much of a complaint. In truth, she is adapting quickly - the more she hears the multi-toned voice, the less it disturbs her.

She leans against him, forehead touching his neck. She has no idea which side of him is stroking her hair, and she’s curious, but she keeps quiet and just feels. Adjusts to the fact she might never know from one moment to the next. But it’s not as if the sides aren’t balanced, if she believes what he tells her.

It’s not, she thinks, all that different to accepting Selmak as part of her father, though their personalities are different. Then again, the Tok’ra mellowed her father out and made him more approachable. She’s not sure this applies to Baal, but maybe the human side has affected the symbiotic one.

“Sam.” His voice is human once more and holds a slight note of complaint.

“Hm?”

“Are you cold?”

She smiles. “Freezing.”

“Yeah, me too. I think we should get back in bed.”

Sam lifts her head and smirks at him. “Oh, genius.”

“I know a good way to warm us both up.”

“I just bet you do.”

~ ~ ~

Day blurs into night into day. Sam discovers the labs and, for a change of pace, spends time dissembling Ancient devices that have somehow found their way into Baal’s possession. The Jaffa scientists are unnerved at first, but soon become adjusted to having their Queen working alongside them. She’s startled, not really at their intelligence, but the depth of the knowledge since learning isn’t exactly encouraged amongst most System Lords.

But he isn’t most.

The more she learns, the deeper she falls. He is far more than the shallow God he pretends to be so well. Beyond the arrogance is a man grounded in the certain knowledge of his specialities, and he is a brilliant strategist, capable of long-term plans of such scope she is amazed and awed. His determination frightens her at times – he hunts the Replicators down with a singleness of mind that makes her very glad to be on his side.

She watches each ship as it falls, partly to try and burn away the bitter kernel inside her heart, partly because she does get a thrill as they shatter. Still, she avoids him afterwards, not really wanting to get into that pattern of behaviour.

When they do end in the same bed, it’s still hot and hungry, but since he spilled out the truth of his past, they’ve discovered something else: intimacy. She tells him of her own past, her failed relationships. She knows she’s passed the point of no return when she mentions Jack.

He scoffs, of course; his interactions there are purely hate-hate and she expected his derision. She shrugs and tells him that he shares Jack’s dry sense of humour and that’s why she likes him. He glares at her and goes into a huff. She ignores him and goes down to the lab.

It’s him that apologises. That he’ll do that surprises her. She finds that he can still surprise her, and she rather likes that. She kisses it better and the Jaffa beat a hasty retreat as one thing very quickly leads to another.

Four days after Baal’s shocking confession, Sam wanders onto the bridge and freezes at the all-too-familiar planet spinning beneath the ship. The Alpha Site. She blinks and turns to him.

“Bored of my companionship?” she asks.

He grins. “Yes, very.”

“Lovely. I hate you, too.”

She moves to the viewscreen and stares at the planet.

“This is where you wanted to be,” he notes and she nods distantly. This is what she asked for, but that was a long time ago. Or so it seems.

“They’ll have a fit if we take an Al’kesh down there.”

“Hm, that’s why I thought I’d beam you down. I have a personal cloaking shield if you wanted.”

She wonders if he knows how uncertain she is, whether he realises that she no longer wants to go back. It’s only that she knows they’ll think she’s dead and can’t live with that guilt that propels her now.

“That… might not be such a bad idea.” They’ll throw her in the brig for what’s she done otherwise.

He presses the device into her hand. She meets his eyes and hesitates.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly. “Take as long as you need.”

Forever isn’t going to be enough for this, she thinks and looks away.

“I’m coming back.”

“That’s your choice.”

“And I’ve made it. I’ll be back.”

He beams her down just inside the perimeter of the camp. They haven’t set up an alert for Asgard technology. She rolls her eyes at the lack of security and heads to the command tent. It takes a deep breath to gather the nerve to slip through the opening and, as her eyes adjust to the gloom, her heart skips a beat.

Jack sits at a table, scanning reports. Teal’c is stood just behind him. The Jaffa’s eyes narrow as if he’s heard something. Sam moves away from the door – cloak or not, the sun will still cast her shadow if she’s not careful.

A soldier enters, looking dirty and tired. “General O’Neill?”

Jack looks up. Straightens. “Any news?”

“No, sorry sir, there’s nothing new.”

Jack sags and Sam wonders what news he wants. Wary of Teal’c heightened senses, she creeps closer to the table. There’s a pile of photographs, the uppermost is grainy black-and-white and shows a burned out corridor in Area 51, herself next to Baal.

They know.

Cold washes over her and she looks at Jack. She wants to tell him that she’s okay, that she’s safe, but he’d never believe that, not if he knows she’s with Baal. He’d never believe it was her choice.

I thought you were dead, she thinks and blinks back tears. How was I supposed to know differently?

“We will find them, O’Neill,” Teal’c intones. “We will recover Colonel Carter.”

“I just want to blow that bastard out of the sky,” Jack snarls. “God knows what he’s doing to her.”

Panic rises: she’s put Baal in danger by coming here, because Jack won’t hold back, no matter what she tells him. She flees the tent, desperate to get back. Unfortunately, she crashes into Daniel and ends up sprawled in the dust. She hears shouts and grabs him, pulling him inside the shield and then drags him into the shadows beneath the trees.

“Sam!”

“Shut up.”

She watches the soldiers scan the area. If they have a shield detector, she’s in a lot of trouble. They pass by and she heaves a sigh of relief. She glances at Daniel. He stares at her and she remembers the dress.

“We thought-“ Daniel stops and eyes her. “Where’ve you been?”

“Oh, out and about.” She waves a hand, the cool dismissal of his worries something she’s learnt from the best at it. “I had a few things to take care of, namely the Replicators.”

“Right. How did that go?”

“Pretty well, actually. I think we’ve got them all, but I suppose one or two might have escaped. How’ve you been?”

“Not too bad, though things got very interesting at the SGC for a while.”

“I heard about that. I’m surprised you got away.”

Daniel folds his arms. “I’m surprised that you got away from Area 51. Or did you have help?”

She knows he’s seen the photos, so there’s little point in denying it. “You have no idea.”

“Then maybe you’d better explain it, because it’s looking very strange from this angle, Sam.”

“Yeah, I get that.” She finds the stump of a tree and sits down, attempting to pull the short dress down her legs, crosses her booted feet. “I thought you were dead,” she tells him. “After what happened… Daniel, I know they took out Washington and I lived through their attack at Area 51. I tried to get someone at the SGC, but…”

“We spoke to the survivors. They mentioned guys in metal suits and weird tattoos on their heads.”

Sam shakes her head. “You know what happened, Daniel. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I don’t know why.”

“I just said.”

“So you thought you’d hook up with Baal?” He removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sam, that’s quite a jump.”

“I don’t have time to explain it all, Daniel, you’re just going to have to trust me.”

He looks at her. “Are you okay?”

She smiles. “Yeah, I am. And without his interference you’d have been to my memorial service. The photo doesn’t really show how badly hurt I was.”

“What’s in it for him?”

She wonders what he’d say if she tells him the sex is good. “I’m helping out with some things he’s… found.”

“Stolen, you mean,” he says wryly.

“Baal,” she explains and smirks.

“You’re insane.” Daniel sits beside her. “Jack’s determined to find you, you realise that right?”

“I overheard him.” Sam looks up at the green leaves overhead. She’s rather missed being on a planet and makes a mental note to talk to Baal about that. “He’s not going to manage it, not unless I want him to find me.”

“Are you hearing what you’re saying?”

Daniel’s disbelief is not a surprise, but she feels let down anyway.

“Are you hearing me? I said that I’m fine. There’s…” She made a promise and she won’t break his faith, so she leaves it at, “A lot that you don’t know and I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, Daniel, but I really can’t. You’re just going to have to take it on faith that I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re risking your career,” he says. “They’ll not take you back if they know you’ve been working with him.”

“It’s worth the risk. We’ve taken out the Replicators, Daniel.”

He shakes his head. “And what now? He’s free to rebuild his empire. Are you going to be able to stop him taking Earth?”

“He could have done that a long time ago.” She knows that now. “The Replicators have decimated the System Lords, Teal’c’s rebellion continues to gather pace. The Goa’uld are on the way out and once they’re gone…”

“Baal will have all their territories.”

“No.”

“’No’? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean that he won’t. Well, not in that way. He’s already moved members of the free Jaffa onto the worlds he commands. There’s a lot you’ve kind of missed, but I’m sure you’ll catch up.”

“His arrogance is contagious, apparently,” Daniel says, tone bitter.

Sam gives him a tired smile. “Maybe. Or maybe I know because I’ve been the one at the front.”

“We fled here, Sam! We’re been regrouping while you’ve been flying about-“

“Saving the galaxy, yes I’m aware of that. I’m not being arrogant, Daniel, we’re just on different pages. I could never have just sat around while the government jumped through its hoops. I had to be out there doing something.”

Daniel sighs and nods. “I guess you did. But do you have to now? We need you here.”

“You said it yourself – the military’s not going to like what I’ve been doing, no matter what the reason or the result. And do you think I can stand there and tell Jack? I couldn’t do that to him, Daniel. He’s still my commanding officer and my friend. Nothing will ever change that.”

“But you’re choosing Baal over him?”

Sam folds her hands in her lap and stares at them. Daniel sighs and puts his hand over hers.

“I’m sorry. That was a low blow.”

“Jack… Jack won’t ever move, Daniel. We got caught in the pattern of not asking and not telling. The regulations were always going to tie us in knots. Sometimes… sometimes you just need to break the rules. When someone is willing to go to those lengths…”

“It matters.”

“Yeah.”

“If he hurts you…”

She looks up and smiles at him. “He won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know him.”

“That… is really disturbing.” Daniel pulls a face like he’s bitten a lemon. “Sorry, but it really is.”

She shrugs. “I can’t help that.”

“Sam… Sam, what about Jack? If you don’t tell him, he’s going to keep looking.”

“I can’t. You’ll have to.”

“If I do… he’ll consider you compromised. You won’t be able to come back.”

“I know.” She sighs and squeezes his fingers. “I’ve known that for a while.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“I don’t have another choice, do I? But I’m happy where I am, Daniel. Honestly.”

“I never thought you’d go to the dark side.”

She laughs at that. “I’ve not. It’s just… just not your everyday circumstance. I’m still on the same side, Daniel, just a different angle.” She sighs and rises. “I need to go before they find me. I won’t risk him more than I have.”

“You care that much?”

Stopping, she looks at him, debating whether to tell him the truth. She owes him and nods.

“Yes. I do. Believe it or not, the feeling is mutual.”

Daniel looks away. She activates the call button and everything goes white.

~ ~ ~

There had been a moment when she’d wondered if she was doing the right thing, but then realised that what is right for her doesn’t need to be what’s right for everyone else. Her choice is to be selfish for once. Jack will find someone else for the team and SG1 will go on. As will she, just in a different capacity. She hopes that one day they’ll work together again.

They always did that well.

Baal beams her directly into their bedroom, having correctly guessed that she needs privacy and the comfort of his firm embrace. She nestles in the circle of his arms and her doubts evaporate. It still takes a while for the pain to ease.

“They survived,” she says.

“Oh goody.”

She smiles at his sarcasm and nudges him. “You’re pleased really,” she says knowingly. “After all, who would there to torment if they’d died?”

“You have a point. Maybe I should organise an attack. Just to stay in practise, you realise?”

“You’re a bad boy,” she notes and hooks her arms around his neck. “Don’t ever change.”

“I have no intention of it. I do, however, have every intention of changing you. In particular, the amount you’re wearing.”

“Miss me?”

“Not at all.”

“No. I didn’t miss you, either.”

Sam knows that they’re both lying and they both know it. She smiles against his lips and then surrenders to his very insistent kiss. It leads to other things, as it tends to do, not that she minds at all, even when he teases her until she’s writhing.

Her hands clutch at the silk sheets and she moans, arching into his warm palms and overly talented fingers. If this is wrong, then she never wants to be right again. Certainly not when his hot hardness is sinking into her and the waves threaten to drown her in pleasure.

He rides her hard and they’re both sweaty and breathless when they finally break apart. Sam rolls onto her side. Baal curves against her back, slings one arm possessively over her waist. Her fingers link with his and she smiles, sated and content.

Closing her eyes, she murmurs the three words she’s been meaning to for a while but never quite found the right moment. Or the courage.

“I love you.”

His thumb draws a circle on her hip. “I know.”

She smiles into the pillow. “All-knowing, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“Brilliant. You realise that I’m not?”

“Pfft, of course. But I’m not prejudiced against ignorant Tau’ri females.”

“You’re going to be very inappropriately named if you don’t shut up,” she says and rolls onto her back to glare at him. “Do you have to be such a bastard?”

“Only when it gets a rise out of you.” He kisses her, probably in an attempt to mollify her and, embarrassingly enough, it works. She sighs and slides an arm around his neck. “Do I really need to say it?” he asks.

“Yes. You really do.”

“Fine.” His sigh is long-suffering, but the smile on his face is warm and his eyes sparkle with amusement as he gazes down at her. “Since I have to…”

She watches him shift so he’s knelt at her side. He takes her hand, an overly serious expression on his face. She rolls her eyes.

“Samantha Carter,” Baal says. “You are quite beautiful, considering, and I really rather like you.”

She hits his thigh. “Nice.”

“I’m baring my soul here. Can we have a little less physical violence?”

“You’re being an ass,” she retorts and glares at him. “And you deserve it.”

He sighs and glances away. When he looks at her again, there is a very different light in his eyes. Her breath catches in her throat.

“If you didn’t know that I loved you, I doubt you’d still be here.”

It’s a grudging confession but he’s said it and that’s all she needed. Sam smiles and takes his hand, pulls him back down. “No, I probably wouldn’t be,” she admits and angles her head so her nose doesn’t bump his as she draws him in for a languishing kiss.

So there we have it, she thinks as he drops beside her. His hand slides over her ribs, just under her breasts and she snuggles into his sleepy embrace. I have what I wanted.

She wonders how long it’ll be before she has to pay for it.


End file.
